海伦娜·伯翰·卡特 | 朗读诗歌《野雉》

The Pheasant

《野雉》

——by Sylvia Plath

You said you would kill it this morning.

你说你会在今天上午杀它。

Do not kill it. It startles me still,

不要杀。它仍令我惊讶，

The jut of that odd, dark head, pacing

古怪的深色的头部突起，

Through the uncut grass on the elms’ hill.

慢步过榆树山头未剪的草坪。

It is something to own a pheasant,

拥有只野鸡也挺不错，

Or just to be visited at all.

或只是被它造访。

I am not mystical: it isn’t

我不是神秘主义者：它不像

As if I thought it had a spirit.

我认为的那样拥有灵魂。

It is simply in its element.

它仅存在于构成它的元素中。

That gives it a kingliness, a right.

那赋予它威严，一种权利。

The print of its big foot last winter,

去年冬天，它在我们院子的雪上

The tail track, on the snow in our court—

留下大脚印和尾巴的痕迹——

The wonder of it, in that pallor

穿越麻雀与八哥的交叉阴影，

Through crosshatch of sparrow and startling.

在一片苍白中令人惊异。

Is it its rareness, then? It is rare.

因为它稀罕？它确实稀罕。

But a dozen would be worth having,

还是值得拥有十几只，

A hundred, on that hill—green and red

一百只，在那山头——绿的红的，

Crossing and recrossing: a fine thing!

来回穿梭：漂亮的家伙！

It is such a good shape, so vivid.

它的身形多好，多活泼。

It’s a little cornucopia.

它是一只小小的丰饶角。

It unclaps, brown as a leaf, and loud,

它收拢翅膀，褐色如叶，嘹亮，

Settle in the elm, and is easy.

安然栖息在榆树上。

It was sunning in the narcissi.

在水仙丛中晒太阳。

I trespass stupidly. Let be, let be.

我糊涂地闯入，随它去，随它去。